Saturday, May 16, 2015

Writers Group - Four people - New poem: What I Saw at the Free Movie - Amtrak poem

Last nite, I dropped Scott off at the train station and then drove over to the Giant with my laptop.

Began work on my new short story "The Last Lawn Party."

After hours, a regular crowd haunts the Giant. A homeless crippled man is led inside by - what? - his family? Someone told him "I love you."

An 11-yo girl who may have gender-identity issues passed me by.

Can you help me? I squealed like a mouse.

How do I get on the Internet on my iPhone.

She showed me. I had called my son Dan who never called me back.

We must be resourceful.

I wanted to do research on Weirton, W V, which is where my story takes place. I have until May 31 to submit it to Haunted Waters Press.

Kym Cohen was there today with her gorgeous aqua nail polish and assortment of jewelry flashing in the fluorescent-lit room.

Altho she didn't write anything, she's a great critic.

My sugar was low so I bought Mac and Cheese - delicious!
When you check out to pay for it, you punch in "Hot Meals."

Thank you Teresa.

Donna Krause wrote a poem for me called A Tribute to Ruth. It's lovely and I'll hang it next to my three new photos of  "Madeleine" from our support group.

Linda Barrett rewrote A Woman from Mars.

It was GREAT!!!  17 pages I believe.

Linda read my short story in record time. She's always the fastest reader.

Here's what Haunted Waters wants:

...The collection will feature works depicting a slice of life in rural America. Think small towns, isolated communities, backroads, and farm country. Draw upon hometown childhood memories to bring us coming of age stories and life lessons learned the hard way.  Captivate us with the romance and simplicity of country living. Think fresh linens hanging on the line, cows in the pasture, sweet tea, and endless rows of corn. Take us along to county fairs, swimming holes, and roadside vegetable stands.  Bring us subtle Midwestern tales of lives rooted in soil.

I'll tell you, the above is darn good writing!

I was so busy this morning I barely had time to write.

First, I sent off a Thank-you Letter to Monsignor Bolger who lives in a retirement community for priests in Warminster.

Father Bolger will represent the Catholic religion when New Directions presents "A Fresh Look at Religion" on Saturday, June 6, from 1 until 3 pm.

Drove for 7 minutes trying to find Mailman Ken. Couldn't find him but gave it to another mailman who wished me a good weekend.

Submitted my story Uncle Ken this morning. Can't remember who to, but I'm happy about it. My friend Marcy from CA liked it.

Guess who just called now? Tommy Williams, aka Latif, who was featured in the Compass two years ago. He got married and wants me to meet his wife, Heather.

Here's the movie, Big Eyes. 

Image result for big eyes


I was dizzy from
running up four
flights of stairs to
watch Big Eyes
the free movie
at the library

five minutes late
I lugged a heavy chair
sat in the aisle
slid on my driving glasses
and immersed myself

they were all there
the aged fellow with
yellowing gray hair
I think of him as
Stewart Granger
come back to life

And the kind red-head
no Rita Hayworth
who remembers my name
Sitting before me
was a new one
she captivated me
with her thin white hair
falling like coconut flakes
over her pink scalp

Turn to the side, turn to the side,
I thought
I need to see your face

Please be beautiful,
still, some of us are,
you know,

my Aunt Marion with
her flatbread nose, paralyzed
at a young age by stroke,

More chairs were carried
across the floor and planted
like seedlings across the room
this, even when the film was
half done, and finally I caught
a glimpse of her face, removed

my driving glasses, and stared
it was a face like Judi Dench,
dying in the film Iris,
a very fine face
asparkle with intellect

a face that had read books
and made love with abandon
lying on her crisp white sheets
alone now
staring at the ceiling


JUST FOUND this poem


When I looked in the mirror
in our nation’s capital
I saw an American girl
with the same Jewish eyes
I wore back home

puffy now
from an unknown allergen
don’t tell me I’m allergic
to all the people mine eyes did see
Mr Bezwada on the Amtrak going down
- a “polymer chemist” – what’s that? -
oh, you’re traveling to the Patent Office
for an inner body contraption
to mend our bones.

Do we really deserve it?
Your wife keeps the books
and cooks with curry
I lick your patchouli smell off my tongue.

Have you seen the tall postal museum?
Or know there was one?
Security guards thick as pigeons
on the sidewalks of DC
Paranoia come home to roost.
Hello, sir, where’s the ladies room?
Make a u-turn, he says, doffing his cap,
go under the arches, you’ll see it then.

Take care, he says, seeing me off from his podium.
I wave when I come back
drying my hands in the air
a confessional poem?
what’s to confess?
my intense love for Thee?
the moon enters my bedroom at night
makes my swollen legs
light up
suddenly I remember
an email from Neighbor Bill:
there’s an orgy of lightning bugs
in the backyard

I slip on my robe and stand on the backporch
late for the show
they don’t mind
I go out to meet them on the cold
wet grass
cascades of them
passing like nations across the sky
crisscrossing like planes in the
Air and Space Museum
missionaries of higher truths
I still aspire to

I hold my arms out like Jesus
Americans all of us
stung deep and hard
with the imprint of Liberty
all thousands of us
on and off
and off

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